Every one had jumped out of the way.

The table, the bottles, the chairs were knocked over and scattered.

The noise was as great as if the cottage itself had come tumbling down.
"I'm dead! The scoundrel has killed me!" The words and the flight of the old woman were explained by the apparition on the threshold of a keeper, dressed in green livery, wearing a hat edged with silver cord, a sabre at his side, a leathern shoulder-belt bearing the arms of Montcornet charged with those of the Troisvilles, the regulation red waistcoat, and buckskin gaiters which came above the knee.
After a moment's hesitation the keeper said, looking at Brunet and Vermichel, "Here are witnesses." "Witnesses of what ?" said Tonsard.
"That woman has a ten-year-old oak, cut into logs, inside those fagots; it is a regular crime!" The moment the word "witness" was uttered Vermichel thought best to breathe the fresh air of the vineyard.
"Of what?
witnesses of what ?" cried Tonsard, standing in front of the keeper while his wife helped up the old woman.

"Do you mean to show your claws, Vatel?
Accuse persons and arrest them on the highway, brigand,--that's your domain; but get out of here! A man's house is his castle." "I caught her in the act, and your mother must come with me." "Arrest my mother in my house?
You have no right to do it.

My house is inviolable,--all the world knows that, at least.